Drivin Straight at You Screamin N Another Language
by udon'tknowmebutiknowme
Summary: Sorry, i know i spelled the title wrong, apparently it's too long. This is about how Rory dealt with Jess leaving at the end of Season 3, something a bit more realistic than "lalala im fine no wallowing"


Driving Straight At You, Screaming in another Language

"Honey, wake up"

"Mhhhm," You groaned, pulling your comforter closer around your head.

"Sweetie, come on get up. It's time"

"Time for what?" you grumbled hoarsely.

"It's moving day for the college student" your mother chirps causing you to burrow deeper into your cocoon of quilts. You _think_ you were drinking last night, and the dull knives slicing into your skull repeatedly confirm it.

"Who's moving?"

"You silly. My baby's going off to Yale today." She says dramatically.

"Another hour," you beg.

"What do you want me to do kid, go without you?"

"Sounds good to me." You mutter.

That sets her off and she yanks the covers in such a way that you end up dumped on the floor. Hammers join the knives.

"You have fifteen minutes to get dressed before I bring in the hose. Clear?"

Your groan seems to suffice for her and she marches out of your room, snapping the door shut.

You get up slowly but even so your vision blurs and you see stars. You stumble forwards and manage to make it to your dresser without falling.

Robotically you pull out the only pair of pants that fit, a pair of jeans from when you were fourteen. The navy blue tank top you pull over your head used to be like a second skin when you wore it. Now it hangs loosely but you can't seem to make yourself care. You shiver even though it's august and has to be about eighty-five degrees outside; and so you slowly extend your arm to reach for his old black hoodie.

You feel the worn cotton between two fingers before flinching at the door it unlocks filled with memories you hate that you love and so you shift your hand to clutch a grey sweater instead. One that he has never touched, untainted.

You slip your rail thin arms through the sleeves and look at yourself through the mirror. The pale, transparent skin and the deep purple shadows under the eyes would have scared you if you weren't so numb. You pull your fingers through your oily hair a few times as you enter the kitchen that you suddenly can't see.

He is there, sitting at the table, eating fries with his special salt and pepper dip just like the night Paris was here and the three of you debated the classics. Only Paris isn't here now and you're ready, want this, need this and no, _where_ is he going? As he stands up, gives you that smirk that makes your knees turn to jelly and saunters out the back door.

"Rory! Rory!" you hear distantly and now you're back and you're done for because he has left again.

Looking up dazed, you blink out the scene and into your mother's eyes that are filled with concern. You want to tell her it will all be alright but you've never been a good liar.

She hands you your tea and you barely taste it as you drink it down.

"Do you want…" she starts, lifting her coffee cup but you shake your head forcefully and she lowers the cup slowly. Because it won't ever be as strong or as good as when he made it and it will always look like his eyes. His wonderful, wonderful eyes.

"Rory, stop it" you hear and you realize you're crying and Lorelai is having none of it. Because moving into your new college dorm is supposed to be happy, happy, happy and you just can't, can't, can't give your mother what she so desperately wants.

"Rory, sweetheart, he's not coming back" she says, softly, as if it is said gently it won't rip yet another hole into your chest.

"Know that" you nod curtly.

"Rory, I know you thought Jess was…"

But you cut her off, "Stop it, just, stop it." At first it was strong, a command and then you falter because you aren't unstoppable any longer and the last words come out as a plead.

"Rory." She sighs. "You can't let this stop you from everything you've worked for, dreamed of! You've stopped watching movies, you've stopped reading, and you've stopped drinking coffee. When does it end? It's been two months. You barely eat and I know you've been drinking. You've gotta snap outta this kid."

You can't imagine anything different without him though.

What was the point of dreams without him?

Every movie you had tried to watch since…the break up (you still had trouble saying the words, even in your head) you couldn't help but imagine what he would have thought of the characters, plot, dialogue.

It was the same with books.

There wasn't a single book you owned that neither of you had never discussed nor referenced.

So without anything else to do, you drank. You stole beers out of the fridge and consumed almost all of your mother's secret stash. You drank it straight up, straight from the bottle because you couldn't picture him taking the time to use shot glasses or even plastic cups.

You smoke only when there is no more liquor in the bottle and you can still feel that hallow place in your chest with the ragged, bleeding edges that you don't think will ever heal.

You remember Lorelai was talking and look up but she is gone and for that you are grateful.

Even though it is not _hard_ to be hurting her so deeply, it is uncomfortable, because you never had liked causing people pain. But her pain at your pain is only a thorn in your slashed apart side.

Because one little prick is nothing when your bones are broken without any chance of healing properly.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lorelai is gone at last and you're able to crawl into your new bed. The noise from all the parties outside is so loud you have locked the door and clutched a pillow to your head, your new green and pink comforter a barrier to the outside world.

Even though you drink, and there is plenty of booze here, you do it privately. It isn't for the high (you can't feel anything besides the aching, raw pain throbbing against your insides anyway)and it's not to try and disguise that pain either. It's to rebel. Do something the real Rory Gilmore, Town Princess, Straight A's Valedictorian, Perfect Granddaughter and Mom's Best Friend wouldn't ever dream of doing.

But it is something he would do.

Before him you were nothing more than a naïve school girl.

Now you knew that the world was a fucked up hell hole waiting to screw everyone over. Waiting for the "opportune moment," as you heard once, to cut you down so badly that even if you did heal, could heal, you'd be too afraid to stand again.

You didn't get an ending. Again. But this time you are almost grateful because you wouldn't be physically able to stop yourself from begging him to change his mind, convince him to stay with you forever and always.

Love was a cruel, sick, horrid, vile joke and you hate yourself for believing in it for so long.

You don't understand the necessity of breathing anymore and your ears are useless without his voice to hear.

Every breath is no longer filled with his scent and now your heart beats out of habit rather than excitement. It beats black blood, empty of all that you dreamed of.

He took your dreams. Your joy, your naivety.

He took your thoughts, your curiosity, your determination.

He left shared CDs, dog-eared books and gaping holes in your being.

You haven't noticed the weather in two months. The world is a cold, grey, unforgiving place. Meteorology be damned.

You roll over and your clock says its noon. Your first class was at eleven. You drag yourself up, change clothing absently, and clasp a notebook in your frail hand before you leave.

The class snickers when you walk in an hour late to a two hour class. The professor begins to lecture, something about respect and punctuality and not being in high school anymore. You nod vaguely and when he's done you sit in the back corner of the room.

"Were you at the party last night?" a dark-blond haired boy whispers. You turn and look at him confused, why is he talking to you? "That's why you're late, right?" you shrug and he grins.

You open your notebook and begin to doodle; Blondie seems to take the hint and looks towards the front again. You forget about the loser next to you as you scribble lightning bolts and ice cream cones.

A bell rings. There is a gathering of papers and bodies jostle to get out the door. You look up, dazed and confused.

Blondie is there, grinning. You ignore him and leave but he just won't take a hint and trails after you.

"Where you going next?"

"Dunno."

He laughs. You hate his laugh, too easy, too fake.

"What's your major?"

"Doesn't matter."

"What dorm you in?"

"Get lost."

"Wanna get some lunch?"

"Forget it."

"You wanna…" He started and you spin around, glaring at him as his mouth falls open.

"I don't have any desire to go or do anything with you, _ever_. Why can't that get into your thick skull asshole?"

The loser gapes at you, the crowd that had gathered began snickering and he spun on his heel and left. You roll your eyes and leave in the opposite direction, ignoring the fingers pointing at you.

You get drunk at the first bar you find. Somehow telling that jerk to get lost has made another gash in your heart. Because that is something Jess would have done, and he would have been so incredibly proud of you if he had seen that. But he didn't. he didn't walk with you to your first class like he had promised and he didn't help you move into your dorm like he had promised. What happened to 22.8 miles? You down another double shot, hoping to drown out the memories engraved in your brain.

Your first meeting:

"_You read?" _

"_Not much."_

"_Shall we?"_

"_Shall we what?"_

"_Bail."_

"_I thought you said you didn't read much."_

"_Well, what is much?"_

Your first date:

"_Basket; basket maker; guy who didn't bring enough money."_

"_You know, Ernest only has lovely things to say about you."_

When he cleaned your mom's gutters:

"_The Shags?"_

"_Trust me."_

When he surprised you with dinner when your mom was out of town:

"_Salt and pepper dip. Only way to eat a fry"_

When you tutored him:

"_Yes, but which Clash song?"_

Your first winter as a couple:

"_Want me to help you with your homework?"  
_

"Rory?"

"Dean?" you slur.

"Rory, are…you…are you drunk?"

"Whaddya think, dumbass?" slapping off his arm.

"Come on, let's get you some coffee."

"No coffee!" you cry shrilly.

"Ok, ok. Let's just get you out of here," he says, every so calmly and rationally.

"No." you say loudly, jerking away from his grasp, "I don't wanna go anywhere with you."

"Come on, you're drunk."

"Stop saying that! 'Come on,'" you mock in a deep voice and he rolls his eyes. "I'm not 'coming on' anywhere with you."

"That doesn't even make sense" he says firmly, grabbing your arm.

"Don't touch me!"

"Look buddy, if the lady doesn't wanna go with you, she don't have to." The bartender states flatly. He was older, mid-fifties with graying hair.

"Stay outta this" Dean spits out at him.

"She don't have to go with you." The man repeats.

You turn around and leave , Dean doesn't notice as he is still debating with the bartender who you will or will not leave with.

You walk down the street hurriedly, you have to go go go but you can't clearly remember why.

You keep moving and the sidewalk is going all over, turning and swerving. You hear cars beeping and tires squealing and then you're on the pavement and lying in something warm and sticky. People are swarmed around you but you don't know why. Then everything starts to fade and finally disappears.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Your eyes blink open, confused. You think about sitting up to get a better idea of where you are, but decide you would rather not move and just stay lying down.

"Ms. Gilmore. You had quite an accident."

"Huh?"

"You walked in front of a moving car. You've been out for several hours."

"Alright"

"Wouldn't…wouldn't you like to know if you're alright?" the doctor fumbles.

"Sure." You say; mainly to make him more comfortable because he obviously isn't used to a patient who didn't want to know how they are or what was wrong.

"Well, you have a small cut on you head, from when you fell, which was the cause of all the bleeding; and you broke your arm."

"Good to know"

"Um…alright…well, I'll…I'll let your family come in. they're all worried about you."

"Ok"

~*~*~*~*~*~

"No blue?"

"Thought pink was a nice change. There's still orange, red, green and white. At this rate I'll have 'em all."

"Don't even joke about that" she says sternly. "Hey, so guess who is back in town?"

"Who?" you ask, not particularly interested.

"Jess."

"What?"

"Jess. He's back."

"Wh…what? When?"

"Today, actually."

"Luke asked him, a few weeks ago, and he finally decided to come back."

"Really?"

"Yep," She says, sighing heavily. But your mind is going a million miles a minute and you don't register the fact that she doesn't sound quite as happy as you are.

"Hey," a quiet voice comes and you both look up, startled, only to find it's Jess, coffee in hand.

Jess offers Lorelai the coffee as she leaves which she takes gratefully.

Jess sits by your bed and you grasp his hand with your good arm.

"Are you coming back?" you whisper hopefully.

"Ror…" he says and the stitches in your heart tear out and you are _mad_. Mad he left you, and leaving _again_ and for never saying goodbye and for hurting you so very deeply.

"What? Why? Why not Jess? Why the _fuck_ not?"

"I'm no good for you Ror, I can't give you everything you deserve and I couldn't ever be enough."

"Why the hell does everyone keep saying that? Shouldn't _I_ get some say in what's god for me and who I deserve?"

"Ror, please hunny." He whispers and your breath catches. He has never used any sort of endearment with you and it hurts so badly to hear it knowing you won't ever again. Because that stupid town you live in has convinced him that he's not good enough and has driven him out.

He stops tracing the exposed skin on your good arm and that lose of contact snaps you out of your thoughts

"No! Don't give me that bull Jess Mariano!"

"Well what do you want me to say?" he shouts as he jumps to his feet and begins to pace.

"That you'll stay! That it's different this time and that you want to stay with me, that I'm worth it!" you yell back.

"Of course you're worth it Ror."

"Then…"

"You don't need me Rory." He says dejectedly.

"Yes! Yes I do!" you wail because he just cannot seem to under stand.

"No! You need more than a high school drop out who's got nothing going for him. You need a smart, nice, decent guy who can give you everything you want."

"But I don't want that! I don't want Dean or Mike or anybody! I only want you Jess!"

He lets out a loud breath of air and crosses the room to you. He kisses you forcefully, and you're so extraordinarily happy because this is right where you need to be.

**A/N: I am so so sorry not to have updated in so long. This is my New Years gift to you, a little one shot. I have started chapters for "The Twentysecond" and for "Taking it Well" and I've actually started another story, but I will not be posting it until I am 100% finished with it, so I won't feel so bad about not updating when I get brain freeze :) I hope you're still interested in any/all of my stories, real life has just been really taking over and I haven't had much free time. Hope you liked this and I would really appreciate some reviews and/or any ideas for any of my incompleted stories. Thanks for reading this and happy New Year!**


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